Reunion
by freddyburn
Summary: Twenty Eight years after the end of the war, Gale & Mrs. Everdeen return to District 12. Gale's daughter will find love from the one person Gale has trouble accepting. How will Mrs. Everdeen adjust to been a grandmother to two teenagers she hardly knows?
1. Chapter 1

Finnick Mellark ran into the forest with a savage intensity, his bow and arrows slung haphazardly over his back. His parents had argued over some guy named Gale Hawthorn, and a woman they said was his grandmother. Apparently, after nearly thirty years, his mother's former friend and her mother were coming back to District Twelve and Finnick's mother wanted to see them, for closer she had said. His father thought it was a terrible idea. The worst things, however, had been said when his grandpa-pa Haymitch had waded into the conversation.

Finnick was used to his grandfather's drunken ramblings, his mother's nightmares, his father having to clutch bits of furniture whenever he had "an attack," as his mother put it, but the worst things were when the three of them agreed on a point but argued over how it should be implemented. It happened with even the simplest things, and was constant. For such a happy couple, his parents sure liked to argue a lot.

Grandpa-pa Haymitch had told his parents that they needed to "stop acting as if they were rival careers, and work together." It hadn't seemed so bad when he had first said it, until Finnick realised what he was referring to. Then the situation, which had been pretty bad, and raging for several hours, got a whole lot worse.

Flopping down at the roots of a large tree, Finnick panted with tiredness. He had run for miles. There was no fence around District Twelve, not since The Hunger Wars, and there was no one on the streets at this time of the evening, so there was nothing and no one to stop him. Sweeping a strand of ash blond hair out of his grey eyes, Finnick heaved his large frame up. Hunting would help.

Finnick had inherited his mothers grey eyes, her speed, her ability to hunt and her height- he stood at six foot tall at sixteen- and his father's ash blond hair, his large, well muscled frame, with broad shoulders, well toned chest and strong arms, and his father's gift for camouflage. His hands were large, be handled the bow with ease, and soon he had two wild turkeys, five rabbits and a deer was lined up in his sights. Just as he fired, something startled it, and the deer ran, but the arrow, which had been aimed for the deer's eye, lodged in its neck with a spurt of blood. Finnick took off with a spurt of speed, closing the gap between himself and the fallen deer with tremendous speed. He dropped to one knee on the deer's chest, took out his knife and finished the job the arrow had started.

He didn't look up until he had the deer skinned, gutted and carved into manageable sizes that he could sell at the Hob. His mother was looking down at him, a look of curiosity in her red rimmed eyes.

"You have definitely gotten better," she said; as she bent down to help him pack the meat into the backpack he had taken with him when he left the house.

"What's up with you and dad?" Finnick asked.

"He is just angry, that's all. He feels as if my mother and Gale abandoned me when I most needed them and that they are only coming back now that I am all better."

"He is right, you know," Finnick mumbled.

Katniss Mellark sighed. "Haymitch said the same thing."

"I'm beginning to think like Granddad? It must be a bad omen," Finnick said jokingly.

His mother laughed, and placed the last piece of meat into the backpack. "Come one, Greasy Sae will be wondering where her daily supply of meat went too. Then, we have to get you some new clothes. Our guest will be arriving in a few days."

Finnick groaned.

Authors Note: This is my first Hunger games fanfiction. Please let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

Finnick stared down at the piece of cloth in disgust. He hated this piece of thin fabric with every fibre of his being. How was it that he could do a knot in a brilliant snare and make the perfect bow in string for a parcel of cakes but he could not do up a tie? Glancing at himself in a mirror, he snorted in disgust.

He was wearing a blood red shirt, black dress pants with a belt (silver buckle included), and highly polished black shoes. The shirt strained against his chest, promising to pop a few buttons if he was not careful and the belt barely closed on him. It was ridiculous to ask him to wear a tie today, even if he was meeting his so called grandmother for the first time. She had never cared for him before, never come near his family in living memory. Why should he make an effort to look good when he had nothing but contempt for her? Hazelle Hawthorne was his grandmother and Haymitch Abernathy was his grandfather—maybe not by blood, but in every other way that mattered. If they had not begged him, for his parent's sake, he would be out in the woods right now, instead of putting on a shirt and tie to look good for some people he didn't know.

"Need help?" a voice asked behind him.

Turning, Finnick saw his sister in the door. Two years older, and four inches shorter, Primrose Mags Mellark was a beauty by any standards. Of medium heights, like her father, she had a full hour glass figure, their mother's dark hair and their fathers blue eyes. Dressed in a simple black dress she had made herself, with her hair tied up in a ponytail, she looked both provocative and homely at the same time.

"I said, do you need help? And wipe that protective look off your face, every boy in town knows you will break their jaws if they cross the line," said Prim, indicating the tie.

"Please," came the response. Prim smiled, and walked over to her brother. He was such a big, sweet dumb-ass sometimes. Ten seconds later she had the tie done up.

"Listen," she said, jamming a figure into his chest, "this means a lot to mom, so behave."

Anger flashed across Finnick's face. "You think I would screw this up for mom?" he growled.

"Yes, if you thought it would help her. I know you Finnick Cinna Mellark. For you, nothing is too small or too big a task to protect mom and dad. I remember the little boy who used to climb into mom and dad's bed whenever he heard mom cry out in fear and try to comfort her. But mom needs this. Please, behave."

Finnick looked down at his tie for a moment.

"Alright," he said grudgingly, "I'll behave. I'm going to the hob before they arrive. I have to pick up a pot of Greasy Sae's _special soup _for dinner."

"O.K., say hello to everyone for me. Try not to ruin your cloths!"

(Page Break... Page Break)

The hob was packed, as was the norm for a Sunday. The sound of children's laughter and the low hum of conversation filled the air. Finnick moved through the crowd with ease though- people tended to give him a wide berth due to his size and reputation. Grandpa-pa Haymitch was sitting at the counter of the woman who sold the district beer. Thankfully, he looked as if he was only on his second or third, he needed to be reasonably sober for the meal tonight. Finnick was so caught up in trying to figure out how to get Haymitch away from his beer that he never noticed the girl chasing the little boy, until they both ran head-long into him with a slight "thump."

The little boy was up in a second, and his eyes went wide in amazement as he looked at the figure towering over him. He couldn't have been more than five, maybe six years old. The girl was older- closer to Finnick's age. Both had the appearance of people from the seam- olive skin, grey eyes and straight black hair, but Finnick had never seen them around before. The population of District twelve was still small, and Finnick knew every person who was near his own age. Because he was such a gentleman (and because his mom would more than likely slap him into the middle of next week if he didn't), Finnick offered his hand to the girl and pulled her up.

"Let me guess," she said smiling, her eyes roaming up and down Finnick in appreciation, "you are the resident brick wall?"

"Close, the resident baker's son. Finnick Mellark," he said, extending his hand.

"Hazel Hawthorn. Resident tourist, babysitter and would be wild child if I could lose the little ball and chain I call a brother," Hazel said, nodding to the little boy and taking Finnick's offered hand. She smiled again, showing dimples. She was very attractive, but Finnick's mind was still caught on the Hawthorn part of her name.

"Your father wouldn't be Gale Hawthorn would he?"

She made a face at this. "Yes. Why is everyone I meet here so interested in that?"

"History, I suppose."

"Hazel, I'm bored, chase me," piped up the little boy, pouting, obviously bored of the conversation. Hazel smiled a patient smile. 'Why is she always smiling?' Finnick thought.

"Maybe we will meet each other again? I'm here for a while," Hazel said, a look of hope in her eyes.

"Definitely."

With that, she took off after her brother. It was only then that Finnick realised how quiet the Hob had become, and that everyone was looking at him.

"Enjoy making friends?" Haymitch slurred, a small smile playing on his lips. "What would your mother say?"

"She would say 'Put down that beer, get home and get cleaned up NOW, Haymitch.'" That wiped the smile off his grandfather's face.

"Just as cheeky as your mother at your age," he muttered, staggering to his feet, and made his way out.

"Sae," he said, walking up to the right counter, "is that soup ready?"

She looked at him with concern. "Be careful. Her father was in earlier. He's very protective of his daughter."

"Thanks for the warning. Right now, I'm more worried about what mom and dad will say if I get the soup home late," Finnick said, lifting the large pot with ease, and followed Haymitch out the door.

Authors Note: Review and let me know what you think. Please- cyber cookie for those who do...


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHORS NOTE: O.K. people, this chapter is going to be a little different, as it is going to be split into two different points of view—Finnick and Mrs. Everdeen. I might add a third, Gale, if I feel like it. Ah, the joys of been an author. Anyway, on with the show...**

Making sure that the soup was at a low heat, Finnick started to make his way through the house. The table was set: check. Granddad Haymitch sitting in a corner, drinking from a bottle he thought no one else could see: check. His mom and sister making the finishing touches to their appearances: check. But no sign of his dad. Finnick grabbed the bottle from his grandfather, and lightly danced out of reach as Haymitch reached for his knife on impulse, but once his eyes locked on Finnick's face, he stopped. His eyes focused on the thin, hardly noticeable scar that ran from Finnick's ear, down his jaw, to his chin. A relic from the time Finnick had stood to close after he had woken Haymitch up. It had brought on a massive argument, and Finnick knew his granddad had never forgiven himself for it.

"Not until after dinner," Finnick said, waving the bottle as he made his way up stairs to his parent's room, a huge smile on his face. Once he arrived at his parents room, still swinging the bottle loosly from his hand, he found his father putting on his new prosthetic leg.

"Come on, you son of a bitc..." his father started.

"Hey dad, the soup has arrived, and what would mom say if she heard you cursing in front of me?"

Peeta Mellark stood up, and grinned at his son. "You are joking, right? You and your mom taught me some of the best swear words I know. I'm betting you got them off Haymitch."

Finnick grinned at his father. "When are the guests arriving?"

"Eight thirty. But, before they arrive, I want to have a talk with you. Haymitch says you ran into Gale Hawthorn's daughter. Anything you care to say?"

Finnick's grin disappeared and he groaned, his mind wandering back to a smiling face with dimples. "We just said hello dad. Nothing happened."

Peeta eyed his son, grim faced. "Listen, Finnick, I have nothing against Gale's children. If there was something more, maybe and offer?"

"It was just politeness dad, an offer to show her around that's all."

"Alright," Peeta said, and just when Finnick thought he would give him one of his pearls of wisdom, he added "hand me my pants would you?"

(Mrs. Everdeen's POV)

It had been too long, Mrs. Everdeen knew, far too long. She had been so caught up in her own grief and inability to face the district that it had never occurred to her how Katniss would feel coming back here. Nothing could stir her out of her misery or make her realise what she was missing- not the wedding invitation, not the news that she had grandchildren, not Gale, not even poor, broken Annie Odair with her young son, begging her to return to her daughter. She knew that once a year, every year, Annie and her son went to visit Katniss and Peeta, and that once the restriction on Katniss staying in District Twelve was lifted, they had returned the visits. For years, the photo's Annie brought her and the bi-monthly phone conversations with her daughter satisfied her.

She was selfish, she supposed, to be coming back now. Gale had gotten a promotion, and would be moving to the Capitol, and she would be only able to visit. It was with this news that the realisation had hit her. She was sixty-six, and that was retirement age in Panem. She still had three months to go before she had to move out of the state owned apartment she now lived in, and she had nowhere to go. Gale's wife did not want her around- she made Peeta Mellark's mother look like a saint. His kids were teenagers, and did not care about, or did not understand, her predicament, and she knew that Gale was tired of looking after her, even if he would not say.

Mrs. Everdeen was staying at a rented room above the hob, and she was now walking to the Victors Village, separate to Gale and his wife, who were staying with Gale's mother. It was not hard for her to find the house; her feet carried her there automatically. Judging by the lack of a fancy car, Gale had not arrived yet. She walked slowly up the three steps to the door, and paused only a moment before she rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately, which stunned Mrs. Everdeen.

She found herself face to face with Haymitch Abernathy, who was, judging by the way he stood, only half as drunk as she remembered him getting.

"Oh, it's you," he slurred. "Finally come back to do your parental duties? Your about thirty years to late!"

"Granddad," a voice called, "be polite."

"That was polite. If I told her what I really thought, your mum would lynch me for teaching you some new swear words."

A young girl materialised beside Haymitch, and shooed him back into the living room. The girl was a younger version of Katniss, but with blue eyes. It had to be Primrose- she looked exactly like the photo's Annie had taken of her. She smiled warmly at the guest at the door.

"Please, come in. Mom will be out in a minute."

Still smiling, Primrose guided her grandmother into the sitting room, where Haymitch was trying to grab a bottle from the upraised arm of a guy who had at least four inches, and a hundred and twenty pounds, on him- Finnick, Mrs. Everdeen guessed. The photo's Annie had shown her had not done him justice. He was bigger, and far more handsome in real life, his eyes alive with mirth as Haymitch cursed him out of it for holding off on the liquor. But the mirth left his eyes when they found her, his smile disappeared, and he didn't notice when Haymitch got hold of the bottle, muttering that he was not going to face tonight sober. He looked like he was going to say something hurtful and cruel, but a voice interrupted on the scene.

"Mom?"

**A/N: So, what do you think? Should I continue? Let me know...**


	4. Chapter 4

"What is taking them so long?" Finnick growled.

"Calm down, hothead," Prim said, rolling her eyes. "They have only been in their five minutes, now get away from the door."

Finnick grunted, and put his ear back to the door. Peeta and Haymitch shared a knowing look—there was something about Finnick's stubborn streak that he didn't get it from his father.

(In the Kitchen)

Katniss and her mother sat waiting at the kitchen table, where, so many years before, Mrs. Everdeen had helped Gale Hawthorn, the man they were waiting for. Their conversation was stilted—neither wanted to talk about what was on both their minds, why Mrs. Everdeen and Gale had taken so long to come back. They talked about Peeta, Finnick, and Primrose, how things had changed in the district and how they had managed to cut down Haymitch's "dependence". Photos were shown. Comments were made about the others appearance.

"I am so very sorry, Katniss," Mrs. Everdeen whispered finally, a tear trickling down her cheek.

"I know."

"But you won't forgive me?"

"It's harder than you think. Thirty years is a long time. I am a different person. Maybe, once, I could have, with difficulty, but I am a mother now, and I find it hard to understand how a mother can leave her child when they need a parent the most. I have had break-downs, been near catatonic some days, but my children always brought me out of it. So did Peeta. We could have helped each other, but..."

Katniss let the sentence die off. They both knew what she wanted to say. That Mrs. Everdeen had not considered that possibility, that she had run from her problems, that, even though she had the right medication at hand, she had slipped into the same state as had befallen her after her husband's death, except with movement and some awareness of her job. She just lacked awareness of her only living child. They lapsed into silence until they heard a car pull up.

(Gale's Point of View)

Gale pulled the car up to the only light house in the Victors Village, and glanced at his wife, Levesque. She wore a bored expression on her face, as if everything that had happened to her since she had gotten off the train was just another one of the endless meetings she had to attend.

"So," she said in a voice that matched the expression on her face, "this is the house. Not very big, but better than most of the shacks around here."

Not for the first time, Gale wondered why he had married her. Was it because she was the only person who could put up with his mood after the war? Maybe it was because they both shared an interest in the great outdoors, but as Gale rose higher in his job, they had grown apart. He didn't respond to her statement. He eased himself out of the car and walked up to the front door, his wife following close behind. There was a momentary pause after the bell was rang, and the sound of scuffling, and then the door opened, and Gale found himself facing Peeta Mellark for the first time in thirty years. They faced off for what felt like a long time, before Peeta moved and indicated that Gale could enter, and Gale found himself facing a smiling Katniss.

(PAGE BREAK)

The dinner could have gone better. Haymitch made snide remarks and Peeta stared coldly around the room. Only Prim and Katniss seemed to make an effort- Finnick would join in whenever he got a kick off Prim under the table. Mrs Everdeen only spoke when asked a direct question- she looked close to tears. Of course, it was Levesque that caused trouble. She had made no secret that she disliked Katniss almost as much as she hated her mother, and that Gale was the only good thing to come out of District Twelve.

"So Finnick," she said in a voice that dripped sweetness. "I hear you met my daughter. She seemed to believe that you made her an offer."

"Yes," Finnick said in a slow voice. "I offered to show her around the district if she was interested."

"How nice. A tour of the slums."

"Levesque!" Gale said in a warning tone.

"Actually, I am feeling a little sick," Finnick said, getting up. "I won't be too long, and I am sure you will have a much better time without me moping in the corner."

Haymitch chuckled, and Finnick stormed out. As the door closed, he heard Haymitch say "Leave him. He'll cool down in a while."

Finnick stormed upstairs and started to change into his hunting cloths. Once he was done, he strapped a hunting knife to his belt- at his hip, and another, smaller knife, in the small of his back. He put on his grandfathers hunting jacket to cover them. He didn't take his bow and arrows, as it was too dark to be of any use. Maybe he could hit a turkey with the small knife.

(PBPBPBPB)

Striding through the centre of town, Finnick saw a crowd of roughly ten boys around his own age gathered in a rough semi-circle around another person- a girl. The leader was Adain Myster, the resident town bully. A few older members of the town were watching, ready to intervene if anything happened, but Adain had a reputation of playing cruel pranks on those who interfered with his "fun".

"Look at the daughter of the deserter," he shouted. The girl shifted uncomfortably, and moved forward to try and escape the semi-circle. In that moment, before Adain shoved her back, her face was light up. It was Hazel Hawthorn. Finnick would normally ignore Adain- he had never bothered Finnick or his family before, but Finnick was in no mood for his fun and games tonight. He walked over to Adain and grabbed his shoulder.

"Time to go Adain," Finnick rumbled.

"Leave it Mellark, I'm going to have fun," Adain sneered.

Finnick tightened his grip, and moved his jacket to show his knife.

"I said _time to go_," Finnick stressed.

Adain looked at the knife, and backed off.

"Later," he muttered, and signalled his gang, and they slinked off.

Hazel let out the breath she had been holding, and smiled.

"Thanks," she said, "you are a real lifesaver."

Finnick just smiled.

**AUTHORS NOTE: So, what do you think? Should I continue?**


	5. Chapter 5

Finnick and Hazel walked through the quiet streets of District Twelve. They talked about anything that came to mind- their families, their lives, their views on how Panem was been governed. Finally, Finnick got up enough courage to ask a question about something that was bothering him.

"So, um, your mother..." he began.

"Yeah, not the nicest woman around huh?" Hazel asked.

"What's her problem?" Finnick asked.

Hazel was quiet for a long time, then sighed.

"I suppose it's the same problem with everyone of her generation- The Hunger Wars. Her family was important in District Two before the war. They were renowned for having winning tributes in the games. Very violent tributes. I don't know much about it, but from what I could gather; her twin brother was killed by a tribute from District Twelve. My little brother is named after him. Mom and Dad argue about it a lot. Mom is resentful that her family have lost some prestige since the end of the war, and she hates being here. She blames District Twelve and District Thirteen for her families fall from grace."

Finnick frowned at this.

"If your mom hates District Twelve so much, why is she here? Why did she marry someone from here?"

Hazel shrugged. "I guess dad was a way for her to get back some of the respect she lost. He is important in the district. I think she was hoping she could get to meet the tribute who killed her brother. More than likely, she will use her job in communications to do so. She is working on some documentary. She thinks this will get her closer to the tribute."

"Not likely. There were only four winning victors from District Twelve, and only three of them are still alive."

"Finnick," Hazel said nervously, "there is something I have to tell you."

000

"So," Levesque said, swirling her fifth glass of strong wine, "Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch. Gale tells me all three of you are Hunger Games Victors."

"That's right," Katniss said, uneasily, throwing a glance at Peeta. Even as drunk as he was, Haymitch stirred nervously.

"Must make you feel important. There are very few of you left," Levesque said, a hard edge to her voice.

"Not really. They were a pretty brutal time," Peeta said, keeping his voice level, but anyone who knew him well would have notices a tightness in his voice.

"Oh, we all recognise that," Levesque said, smiling. "I'm just curious. You see, I have been approached by Plutarch Heavensbee. You see, I work in communications. Plutarch is interested in broadcasting an historical documentary on the games for all those too young to remember them. I was wondering could I arrange an interview."

000

Finnick looked at Hazel, cocking an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

"Well?" he asked, a playful smile playing on his lips.

Hazel took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. No words came out. Finnick smiled.

"I think there is an old saying to describe what you look like- 'Miming a goldfish,' I believe" he said playfully. Hazel smiled nervously, then tried again. Before she got any words out, there was a cry of delight from across the square.

"Hazel, Hazel, Hazel," a voice cried. It was Hazels little brother. He flew across the square and jumped into Hazels arms. Hazel smiled at him. He eyed Finnick nervously, still a little awestruck at his height.

"I don't think we have been properly introduced. I'm Finnick Mellark," Finnick said, smiling.

"I'm Cato Hawthorn," the little boy said.

**Authors note: Sorry this took so long to update. I am busy with several stories on fictionpress. Hope you enjoy.**


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